


The Search for Elizabeth Keen

by TinyIslandofCalm



Category: Elizabeth Keen - Fandom, Keenler - Fandom, The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Keenler - Freeform, Season 8, Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyIslandofCalm/pseuds/TinyIslandofCalm
Summary: (Story picks up three months after season 8, episode 1)It has been three months since Elizabeth Keen betrayed everyone around her to go on the search for answers. Three months since she kissed her partner, Donald Ressler, and pointed a gun at him so she could flee. The Task Force has been searching for her ever since, and Ressler can't help but wonder was the kiss even real - or was it all just a manipulation?One day, while going through the tip line, Ressler receives a call from a Detective claiming to have Elizabeth Keen in custody . . . and she will only talk to him. He immediately goes to her, anxious to see if it is true and to see that she is still alive.But things aren't as simple as they seem because while Ressler is searching for Liz, so are others, and they will do whatever it takes to get her back - like using Agent Ressler as bait . . .A short story that will be filled with yearning, angst, a lil bit of betrayal, some action, and some twists and turns.
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen & Donald Ressler, Elizabeth Keen/Donald Ressler, Keenler
Comments: 22
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter One

Donald Ressler tightened his fingers around his pen as he scratched another name off of the list. It had been three months since he last saw Agent Elizabeth Keen, when she stole his gun, betrayed him and their team and . . . and _kissed_ him.

No, absolutely not. Ressler tried his very best to ignore that last part. Despite his best efforts, it was all he could think of. Liz, her eyes locked on to his, as she eased in closer, gently pressing her lips to his. His hands had moved to her waist, tightening around her, like he could not let her go. But he did. Because while she was kissing him, she had slipped her hand inside his jacket, to remove his gun. Which she had then pointed at him and fled.

Ressler scratched another name off of the list.

Three whole months of crossing names off of a list, which was compiled of people who had given inaccurate leads to the whereabouts of Elizabeth Keen. Three whole months since working on The Blacklist, as Reddington was gone too, on his own hunt for Elizabeth. Any attempts to reach him, Dembe, or any of his other unknown associates were met with silence. Reddington was going after Liz himself, and he refused to be helped or help the task force.

Aram Mojtabai walked over to Ressler and placed a steaming hot cup of coffee on the table, next to the stack of the papers. He then sat down in front of his computer and pulled up the surveillance video that was constantly running facial recognition. Ressler took a sip of his coffee. They all knew facial recognition was a bust. This wasn’t Liz’s first time on the run, and after learning from the connoisseur of crime himself (and now on the run with a former Russian spy), they knew she wouldn’t let herself be caught by cameras.

Still. They had to try. _He_ had to try.

Ressler was bitter, but also scared. When Liz was on the run with Reddington, he had contact with her. She had called him to give him tips, and, he thought, to check in on him and the team. This time, there was nothing. He was worried that her silence meant that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore. That the kiss wasn’t a goodbye and a confession of feelings, but merely a manipulation of his feelings for her, so she could get what she wanted. He didn’t want to accept that. But that was better than his other fear: that Liz wasn’t in contact with him because she couldn’t. Was she being held captive . . . was she _dead_?

“All dead leads?” Aram asked, nodding towards the paper that Ressler was aggressively crossing names off of. “We’ll find her.”

Ressler sighed, and pushed down the irritation that threatened to surface. “All lead to nowhere. People seem to spot a woman with brown hair, and they call it in. And we follow it up – _I_ follow it up because we have nothing else left. Our first and last lead of tracking Liz’s number plate was a dead end, and as far as we can tell, she has had no contact with Agnes. Tom’s mother still doesn’t want to cooperate.”

Aram shook his head and turned the monitor of his computer off. He shifted closer to Ressler and lowered his voice. “I know Harold told us to stop, but what if we try Mister Reddington again? What if we say there was a threat made, and we need whatever he may know to help find her before it’s too late?” His eyes started intently into Ressler’s with urgency. While Ressler often felt alone in his pain, with the secret he was keeping about what conspired between Liz and him before she left, it wasn’t just him that was feeling the sting of betrayal and upset that Liz had, once again, decided to leave. It wasn’t just him that felt frustrated that they weren’t able to help her find the answers that she wanted. That they were not able to do enough to make her stay.

Ressler shook his head no. As much as he wanted to – and _God, did he want to_ – he couldn’t do that. Not only would it get messy, but, and as much as he wanted to find Liz to see if she was okay, a part of him told him that he shouldn’t. Because Liz did want answers, so badly and desperately that she left the team, her daughter, her life, to go in pursuit of answers. No, while Ressler still felt a duty to do his job, all he wanted was to find a way to contact Liz to see if she was okay.

Aram nodded back at Ressler, not needing an explanation. It was a longshot anyway. Aram turned back on his computer, and sat idly, staring as the facial recognition software began filtering through thousands of faces.

Ressler looked down at his list. One name left. He reached for the phone, ready to make a call to see if anyone had yet vetted her claims, when it began vibrating beneath his hand. Aram’s phone had begun to chime too, and distantly he heard Assistant Director Cooper’s phone ringing too.

He picked up the phone. “Hello?” he asked. “This is Agent Donald Ressler. Who am I speaking to?”

The voice on the other end sounded breathless, urgent. “Agent Ressler. My name is Ethan Andrews, I am a detective with the New York Police Department. A woman walked into my precinct about half an hour ago. She said her name is Elizabeth Keen, and she’ll only speak to you.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ressler darts out of the Post Office to go to Elizabeth, desperate to see her again and to make sure she is okay. But things are never that simple in the world of The Blacklist . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and your wonderful comments. They have been so lovely! Hope you are all doing well.
> 
> This is the first piece of writing I have shared in years, so it has been great for it to be well received. I used to continuously write as a young teen, but eventually I became very disillusioned, self conscious, and too much of a self-critic that I could not bare to write anything, let alone share it. I still struggle with all of those things - but I am glad I took the step to share this story with you! :) I'm expecting this story to be approximately 10 chapters long, maybe? Can't say for sure, but I've got a brief idea. I hope ya'll stick with me until then! 
> 
> Please do excuse any continuity errors with police systems etc. I'm not well versed! Just brush over them haha. I was going to make this chapter slightly longer, but I wanted to give you all something since you have been so supportive! I will have chapter 3 up by Sunday.

_She was alive._ That was the one thought that ran through Ressler’s head as he stormed out of the Post Office. Distantly he heard Copper shouting his name from the door of his office, asking Ressler to slow down, to wait for back up. He heard Aram jump up from his desk, breaking out of the shook that had him sitting paralyzed, after Ressler told him about the phone call.

“It’s Keen. She’s here.” He had said, before taking off.

_She was alive._

Every second Ressler spent in the elevator felt like an eternity. Elizabeth Keen, Liz, his friend, his partner, and the woman he cared for in a way that wasn’t entirely platonic was not too far from here. _She_ wanted to speak to _him._ After all that had happened.  
  
Was it about the kiss?

No, he thought, Liz wouldn’t come out of hiding after three months just to talk to him about the brief – but epic – kiss they had shared before she stole his gun and ran.

She must want a favour. She must need something from the Task Force, or something from him. Either way, Ressler didn’t care.  
  
He was about to see her again.

Ressler climbed into his car, Aram climbing in beside him, and sped out of the car park, sirens flashing. “Come on, come on, move,” he shouted, and smacked his hand against the horn. It was lunch time, and there was traffic everywhere. “It’s a green light! Go!”

Aram pointed to a turning. “If you go that way, and then make an immediate left, and then a right, it’ll take you past the traffic and out on to a side street. The precinct is just a few minutes’ walk from there.”  
  
Ressler nodded, and took the turning, flinging himself and Aram against the windows. Ressler knew he should slow down, but he was worried that if he didn’t get their immediately, he would miss his chance. That Keen would get fed up with waiting for him, or think he didn’t want to see her, and would leave. And then that would be it. His chance gone, along with her.

He put the car in park. “Aram take the car and pull it round to the front of the precinct. When I get Liz, we will need to get to the car immediately. We don’t what she wants, or what she needs, and we don’t know how risky a casual scroll through the city at lunchtime will be for her.”

Aram nodded, and quickly scrambled out of the car after Ressler, and headed towards the drivers’ side. Ressler was about to take off, but Aram’s hand on his arm held him into place. “When you see Liz, tell her I’ve missed her. And that while I’m mad, I understand.”

Ressler gave Aram a small smirk. “You can tell herself. The car, Aram. See you soon.”

*

He raced up the steps to the precinct, continuously having to shout out apologies to people as he darted out in front of them. Nothing, not even the end of the world, would stop him from getting inside. To see Keen again.  
  
Ressler burst through the doors, which startled a group of officers, who reached for he guns holstered at their sides. “I’m with the F.B.I!” he pulled out his badge from his pocket, careful to not look too suspicious (which was a challenge unto itself) to prove to he officers he was who he said he was. “Agent Donald Ressler. I’m here to see Detective Ethan Andrews.”

A beat cop pointed to a door behind him, just as it opened. A short, blond haired man stepped out. He was wearing a dark blue suit that looked like it had seen better days and was holding on to a half drunken cup of coffee. He was a man that looked like he was in no rush to meet anyone, let alone the hassled looking F.B.I agent that just burst through the doors.

“Agent Ressler?” he asked and walked towards the out-of-breath looking F.B.I agent. “We spoke on the phone. If you will just follow me, she’s upstairs. We put her in one of our interrogation rooms-”

“She’s not a criminal,” Ressler snapped, “You could’ve just let her wait in the break room.”

Detective Andrews turned slightly as he walked up the stairs, to look at Ressler as he talked. “No offence, Agent, but a woman walks in here demanding that she only speaks to one F.B.I agent in particular, and her name is Elizabeth Keen, can you really blame us for taking precautions?”

Ressler took in a deep breath, to control the agitation threatening to come forward. It disgusted him, after all these years later, the way people continued to treat Keen. They didn’t know her. They didn’t know why she did the things she did, and what she had done sine to make up for it. Ressler was about to respond when the Detective cut him off.

“Although, we were surprised to hear it was Elizabeth Keen. We’ve heard chatter and well . . . she doesn’t look like the old photos of her that circulated during the manhunt with Raymond Reddington,” he whispered the last part, as if speaking the name of the connoisseur of crime would somehow summon him, “anyways, you’ll see for yourself. She’s just through here.”

The Detective pushed open the door to the interrogation room and held it open for Ressler to step through. As soon as he entered the room, his eyes found the woman sitting at the metal table, her back turned towards him.

“Keen?”

Ressler wasn’t prepared. On the ride over, all he had thought about was how he would react when he saw her again, and whether she was going to be happy to see him. This, though, never crossed his mind. That was a mistake.

The woman turned slowly, almost teasingly, to look at Ressler. His heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach.

She was _not_ Elizabeth Keen.

The woman smiled, unbothered. She resembled Liz in the fact that she had brown hair, brown eyes, but that was where it ended. “Agent Ressler? I was sent to deliver a message to you.” She held her hand out, gesturing for him to take the small piece of folded paper. “I believe it’s from the real Elizabeth Keen.” 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ressler tries to figure out who this mystery woman impersonating Elizabeth Keen is (he's so had enough of imposters) and what she knows about the real one. He set's off on a journey - again - to try and find her, even if it means he walks in to a trap . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Hope you are all doing well.
> 
> I probably don't need to say it, but I don't know much about New York. I'm just going off of what I've seen/read, so if it is inaccurate, I'm sorry! I'm from England, and I live by a bunch of trees and farmlands lol.
> 
> Secondly, this chapter was going to be even longer but I felt like it came to a natural cliffhangery end, so I ended it there. It does mean next chapter might be a bit shorter, I don't know. I don't want to say it will be, and I don't want to say that it won't. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy and have a lovely rest of your weekend :)

Ressler took the piece of paper from the woman’s hands and turned his back to her and the Detective while he opened it. His heart was pounding in his chest, his most inner thoughts whispering to him what a fool he had been to get his hopes up.

The message on the paper was typed, in a classic typewriter setting. It was plain, simple, but effective.

_We need to meet. See you at your apartment at 15:00._

Ressler glanced down at his watch. It was 13:55. He needed to go, and he needed to do it now.

“Detective, by now you’ve realised that this is _not_ Elizabeth Keen,” he said, and shoved the note in his suit pocket, “I need you to send out one of your officers to meet Agent Aram Mojtabai, and escort him back in here. He will be taking custody of . . .” he quirked an eyebrow at the imposter.

“Charlotte Davies.” She know had the sense to look distressed, far from the woman she was five minutes ago when she smugly delivered the news that she was not who Ressler wanted to see.

“He will take custody of Charlotte and escort her to our office-”

Charlotte let out a frightened cry. “No, no, you can’t do that!”

Detective Andrews even had the audacity to look troubled by Ressler’s proclamations. “Is that really necessary? Clearly she didn’t know what was going on.”

Ressler scoffed. “Really, Detective? What kind of precinct are you running here? This woman knowingly called out the F.B.I and impersonated a special agent of the bureau. Those are offences. Now, when my agents interview her, we will get to the bottom of this and whether or not she will be charged. Have I made myself clear?”

The look of protest on the Detectives face had disappeared with each word Ressler had spoken. Good, Ressler was not in the mood to be messed around further, nor did he want to be dealing with more law breakers. “Good. Now send your officer.”

The Detective nodded and left the room.

“Tell me, Charlotte, who gave this note to you? What did they offer in return?”

“I . . . I can’t remember,” she stuttered, “someone just handed it to me and told me what to say. They gave me cash, a couple hundred dollars. I’m a busker. It’s the most I’ve made in one day for weeks.”

Ressler nodded, but he was unconvinced. He had been surveying her the entire time she was talking. Neat hair, combed straight, curled slightly at the bottom. It was not wind swept. Her clothes, a blouse, a jumper, and a small denim coat slung over the back of her chair. No scarf, or gloves, nor a heat were anywhere in sight. This woman was not dressed like she spent her days standing on the busy, cold, and windy streets of New York in November. “What instrument do you play?”

“Huh?” she furrowed her eyebrows, confused.

“You said you were a busker. What instrument do you play?” he quirked an eyebrow in challenge.

Before she could answer, the Detective walked back in. “My officer is on his way outside to meet your fellow agent. Did you need anything else?”

Ressler shook his head no. He turned to leave, his hand on the door handle. “So, what is it? Trumpet? Guitar? Flute?”

She answered quickly. Too quick. “Yeah, guitar. I’m a guitarist. Acoustic.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Detective. Make sure she doesn’t leave. If she does, it’ll be your badge.”

The man went red in the face. “Got it, Agent.”

Ressler left the room, his hand clenched around the note in his suit pocket. _Just like this was a trick, he was about to walk into a trip._ But why? _Why would Keen do that?_

*

Ressler rushed down the stairs and navigated his way to the back exist of the precinct. He didn’t want to bump into Aram, he didn’t have the time to explain to him what was going on.

He had to go to this meeting. It had to be Liz. And even if it was a trap, he needed to know why. He pulled out his phone and dialled Park. She answered on the first ring.

“Agent Ressler, you have Director Cooper pacing in his office,” she told him, not politely, “what are you doing?”

“Look, Park, I don’t have time to explain.”

She sighed. “You know, I hear that from this team a lot. Take your time. I am not going up to Coopers office with half-answers. Talk to me. I am a part of this team too.”

Ressler pushed outside the precinct and set off down the street. “I received a call-”

Park sighed, again, this time with impatience. “I’m not that far behind. Start from when you got to the precinct.”

He tried to supress the memory of the feelings of hope he had felt, and then the swift and crushing disappointment he had felt immediately after looking into the face of Charlotte and realising that it was not Elizabeth Keen. “It wasn’t Liz. It is some woman who claims her name is Charlotte Davies. A street busker claims she plays guitar. I don’t believe it. She doesn’t look the part, and she didn’t sound sure.”

He heard Park typing on the other end of the phone. “I’m looking her up now.”

“I got the Detective to get one of his officers to bring in Aram. He was waiting outside with the car. He’ll go put some cuffs on Charlotte, and bring her in for questioning-”

Park cut him off. “Why not you? Where are you going?”

Ressler raised his hand and attempted to hail a Taxi. After 30 seconds of no luck, he continued on his determined, quick stride, dodging in between tourists and other pissed off locals who were trying to get from A to B. “She had a note. Said to meet soon. I’m heading there now.”

“Where, Ressler? Where are you going?” she demanded.

“Look, Park, I can’t tell you. If this is Liz, I can’t risk spooking her,” he told her, “she won’t show up.”

Park lowered her voice. “Look, I get she’s your partner and you’ve been through this before. But you do know that it is still your job to bring her in? Those are Cooper’s orders.”  
  
Ressler paused, and moved out the way of the crowded path, and dunked underneath an archway. “I know, Park. I know. But this is the best way to catch her. _Trust me._ If she shows up-”

“You keep saying _if,_ Ressler. What if it’s not her?” Park was frustrated, getting angrier with Ressler by the second. She couldn’t be blamed, he did keep giving answers that, to her, made no sense.

“Then I find out who it is, what they want, and what they know about Keen. They will lead me to her. And if it is her, then maybe she is ready to turn herself in, or has information. Either way, we need to know. And if it is her, I can bring her in. I’ve done it before.”

The line was silent for a second. “Just make sure when you say ‘we’ Ressler, that you don’t really just mean ‘you’. Don’t take this risk if it’s not worth it. Let me come with you. Go back to the precinct and be with Aram. We are a team. Liz didn’t remember that, but you can.”

Ressler rubbed his forehead, his head swimming with thoughts. “I know, Park. That is why I sent Aram for Charlotte. Why I need you to call him and help co-ordinate and interrogate her. Because I trust you, because I know you are my team, and that you have got my back. We all have our roles to play. This is mine.”

“Okay, Ressler,” she agreed, “but if I don’t hear from you within the hour, I’m hunting you down myself.”  
  
“I’ll contact you after 15:30,” he went to hang up, but paused. “Thank you, Park.”  
  
“Just don’t make me regret this. Bring Keen back, and don’t lose yourself in the process.”

He nodded, even though she could not see him, and hung up. He stood there for a second, to catch his breath. Was he about to do this? Walk into a trap? This was foolish. He knew that. But if Liz was in danger . . . this could save her. There was no time to come up with a plan with the Task Force. By the time they did, whoever it was would be gone. _She_ would be gone. He can’t risk that. Not again. He learned that from the first time he was tasked with the search or Elizabeth Keen.

His mind was made up. He was going. He turned his phone off, ignoring the panicked texts coming through from Aram, and shoved his phone back into his pocket. With that, he descended down the steps to the Subway.

He was going home. And hopefully, when he got there, Liz would be waiting for him.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ressler returns home to find someone waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> I am so sorry that I have kept you all waiting and haven't posted in a month. I recently got some health news - not COVID related - that sent me into a bit of a tailspin. No confirmed diagnosis yet - should have that Jan/Feb, so I've been doing a lot of overthinking and stressing out. I've had to pick up a whole bunch of prescriptions for vitamin deficiencies too, and have been back and forth with that on doses etc - and dealing with referrals on to specialists etc. So it's been a lot! It's nothing serious (at least I don't think at the moment lmao) but it's just been sort of a massive thing going on - especially after years of feeling so unwell, to find a doctor that listened to me, to now getting all these tests done. And Christmas too! OH MY GOD THE WRAPPING!! It's so hard to wrap when you get frequent tingling and numbness in your hands after like...doing anything LOL. But I did it! Just a few more things to arrive in the post and done. Woohoo.
> 
> Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this installment and all have fantastic holiday & stay safe!

Donald Ressler stood outside the door to his home, his heart thumping erratically in his chest. He had rushed over as quick as he could, eager to get here, to find out the truth. And now he was here, he was too scared to go inside. Too scared to see the room on the other side of the door devoid of any other human being.

But Donald Ressler would not let his fear control him. He grasped hold of the door handle, and pushed it open, his hand resting on the hilt of his gun (the very same one Liz had pointed at him before she made her escape). Despite it being the afternoon, the apartment was dark, as if it were the middle of the night. His curtains had been pulled shut, and, as he squinted in the dark, he realised they were not his curtains at all but black out blinds.

His hand tightened on his gun, and he went to move it out in front of him, as rising suspicion crept up in his chest. Liz was on the run, but she did not need to go this far.

The floorboard creaked behind him. Ressler began to turn, raising his gun, but before he could see who was behind him, to defend himself against his possible assailant, a gun was pressed sharply into his back and a needle plunged into his neck.

The effect was instantaneous, the drug overtaking his system, making him drowsy. Ressler fell to his floor, gun sliding away from him, and his eyes closed. Before he fully passed out, he heard an all too familiar voice.

But not the voice he wanted to hear.

“Dembe, tie him to the chair.”

_Raymond Reddington._

*

Ressler woke up to find his hands and feet bound to one of his dining table chairs. Despite him being tied to a piece of his own furniture, he was no longer in his home. Instead, he was in a small room, which was devoid of windows. Briefly he could hear cars, as if they were driving over a bridge. Maybe he was on a worksite? He would figure out his location later. First, how to get out of these binds, and next, the room. He was left ungagged, which was surprising, considering how much Reddington loved to hear himself talk.

That was what his assailant was doing now, talking to Dembe about some type of wine and cheese combination, when he noticed Ressler was shifting about in his chair, tugging at the ropes that bound him.

“Ah, Donald! How nice of you to join us.”

Ressler glared, and pulled on the ropes harder. They weren’t budging. “I would’ve joined you sooner if someone had drugged me and shoved a needle in my neck.”

Reddington smiled tightly, and waved a hand about in the air, revealing that he was holding on to a small, silver gun. Dembe moved from where he was standing behind Ressler and moved to behind Reddington. He did not look Ressler in the eye.

“Well, given the circumstances, I didn’t think you’d be happy to see me. Thus, I deduced that you wouldn’t be willing to take a small road trip with me, or have a nice conversation over a bottle of chardonnay.”

“What do you want, Reddington?” Ressler gritted out, his teeth grinding.

“Elizabeth.”

Ressler snorted. “Yeah, well, good luck with that because I don’t have her. I was meant to be meeting her at my apartment-” he stopped, as the realisation hit him, “it wasn’t her that sent those messages. It was _you._ You lured me there. To what, kidnap me? To see if I wrote back ‘haha Liz, I already know where you are?’”

“Astute as ever I see, Donald,” he held his other hand out – the one not holding the gun – to take the flip phone from Dembe – “I ‘lured’ you to your apartment, as you so cleverly put it, because you might not have Elizabeth, but you’ll certainly help me find her.”

“No.” He said, defiantly. “Let me go. I will not help you. _We_ reached out to you before and you ignored us, so I’m not going to help you out just because you demand it.”

Reddington tensed, the smile slipping from his face. He sat there quietly for a moment, staring at Ressler contemplatively. Ressler saw many emotions flitter across the man’s face – anger (predominantly), sadness, uncertainty, before he finally settled on one – determined. A sharpness overtook his features, turned his eyes stony, his mouth set into a firm line. “I don’t think you understand, Donald,” he said, and begun to type in a number into the phone, “that I wasn’t giving you the choice. See, I got close to Lizzie before she escaped again – but not before I found a way to contact her. And I realised, that the last time she was on the run, she could never outrun you.” He placed the phone on the table, hovering his finger over the call button. “So that’s when I realised. I had to stop chasing her and let her come to me. _To you._ You see Ressler, you’re a means to an end. I don’t want to hurt you, Donald, but I need to find Elizabeth. And one way to get her attention,” he pressed the ring button, “is through you.”

Dembe had wandered over to him, and placed tape over Ressler’s mouth, stopping him from speaking. He struggled as the phone rang, yelling, cursing out Reddington, trying to plead with him, but it came out muffled. He fought and fought, as Reddington sat there and watched him passively. _He wouldn’t be the bait. He wouldn’t be what forced Liz to come back before she was ready._ And then, he thought, _would she?_ What was to say that Reddington was right? The kiss could’ve meant nothing. But then . . .

The kiss could’ve meant _everything._ Liz could care enough about Ressler to play in to Reddington’s game. Just as he began to think of all that could mean, he heard her. She had answered the phone.

“Hello? Who is this?”


	5. Chapter Four point Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth Keen answers the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I was going to wait to upload this chapter, but after not posting for so long, I figured I'd post both. (I'm really impatient . . . I always post as soon as I finish writing, so who am I to change tradition?!)
> 
> I shall try and have another chapter up before New Year! I've got a vague idea of where I want this story to go. I mean, I know where I want Keenler to end up . . . it's just that whole big storyline of WHO THE HECK IS RAYMOND REDDINGTON that I've got to figure out . . . I've got some ideas of how I want to handle that aspect. I don't really want to go too far in to it because this is essentially a fic of where Keenler find each other again.

Elizabeth Keen was laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unwilling to get up. She had a lot to do today, a list of errands from her mother, Katarina Rostova, with no desire to complete them.

In the many months she had been gone, Liz had found herself no closer to any answers. She didn’t expect to gain them right away. But with her Grandfather, Dom, failing back into a coma, and enemies of her mother coming out of the woodwork – it had been more hiding that investigating.

And Liz didn’t know how to feel about it. She couldn’t regret running away. If she did, her regret and grief at all the ties she severed would consume her. She had picked a side. Choose her mother, Katarina, over Raymond Reddington. She pushed her chosen family aside – didn’t even say goodbye, to Aram, her friend who had always shown her love, or Harold Cooper: a man who was not just her boss, but a father figure and a role model in her life. She couldn’t bear the thought that she had disappointed, but she knew she had.

And then there was Donald Ressler. Her friend. Her partner. The man she had _kissed_ before stealing his weapon and betraying him. The man who had helped her in more ways she could even list. Her tiny island of calm. The person who helped to keep her centred.

She had kissed him.

And then ran way.

Liz didn’t know how she felt about that either. She didn’t regret it. Oh god, of course she didn’t regret it. Ressler was a good man, and Liz she cared for him, deeply. That kiss was built up of years, and that was the moment she could resist no longer – she had to let him know how she felt before she left.

That, she thought, was selfish. She kissed him, because of her own desire, and then left before she could get a chance to explain. It wasn’t the right moment. She should’ve waited. She constantly worried that she had ruined everything between them. That Ressler thought the kiss meant nothing. That it had meant nothing to _him._ She wouldn’t blame him, after everything, if he never wanted anything to do with her again – as a friend, or as something more. She knew that when she walked away.

So, what was she thinking when she kissed him? Liz slammed her head against the headboard, muttering to herself how silly it was of her, how mean she was, as these thoughts raced through her head. She tried to keep them out, to not think about him, or any of it, but it was impossible. She could not rid her thoughts of him.

Liz kissed him because she hoped it showed how much she cared. It was a bittersweet hello, and a goodbye, all wrapped in to one, sweet, mind blowing kiss.

She got out of bed.

This is why she continued each day. Why she wouldn’t let the cold, sinking feeling of regret settle into her stomach. Why she thought of the heaviness in her bones, the weariness that had settled itself in to the furrow of her eyebrows. She couldn’t have ruined all of that, for nothing.

She wanted answers, and she’d do what she need to to get them. There was no choice. Liz had set herself down this path, and there was no road off of it. Whatever it was with Raymond Reddington, whoever he was, and the enemies that continued to try and attack her mother, would not end until she uncovered the truth. There would be no justice for Tom, or a peaceful life with Agnes, until she knew _why._ There had to be some meaning to all of this. Some bigger picture. Reddington wouldn’t tell her. So, she’d find out herself.

As Liz tugged on a clean blouse, her phone began to ring on the desk across from her bed. She stood up, and walked over to the phone, and frowned at the screen. The number was withheld.

She picked up the phone. It wasn’t from anyone programmed into the contacts list. So, who? It wasn’t uncommon for people to withhold their numbers, considering who they were calling and the business they were in, but still. A heavy feeling had settled in to Liz’s gut. Whoever this was, they weren’t calling about anything good.

Liz answered the phone. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Elizabeth!” the voice exclaimed. “How lovely it is to hear your voice. How are you? What’s the weather like in whatever god forsaken hole your mother has dragged you in to?”

Heat ran through Liz’s body, as she became flushed with anger. “Reddington. How’d you get this number?”

He tuts on the other end. “Never mind that, Lizzie. I’m well, thank you for asking.”

Liz gripped the phone tightly, barely resisting the urge to throw the phone against the wall, and stomp on it until it was in to a thousand, irreparable pieces. “I’m hanging up now.”

The voice on the other end of the phone turned cold. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Elizabeth. I have someone hear who wants to talk to you. Dembe, if you please.” There was a loud shuffle, a ripping noise, and then another voice joined the conversation.

Where hearing Reddington’s voice made Liz flushed with anger, hearing this made her body turn cold from dread. “Liz! Don’t do it. Whatever he wants, don’t. It’s not worth it. I’ll be fine.”

“Reddington, I don’t know what you’re playing at-”

He cut her off, voice deadly serious. “I’m not playing at anything, Elizabeth. I want to speak with you. I have tried numerous times to contact you, to no avail. This is the only way to get your attention.”

Ressler continued to shout in the background. “He won’t hurt me, Liz! Don’t sacrifice everything you’ve fought for for this.”

Reddington tutted. “You keep saying what I will or won’t do, Donald, and I am beginning to take that as a challenge. Dembe, shut him up.” Liz heard Ressler shout, and then the sound became muffled again – he must’ve been regagged. They had taken him captive.

Liz began to march around the room, pulling on trousers, shoes, arming herself with weapons. She had to stop this. Stop Reddington. He wouldn’t harm another person she loved. No more games. _No more._ “I’m not playing games with you, Reddington. You don’t get to demand we meet and have that be that. I am not yours to control.”

Reddington sighed. “I am not trying to control you, Elizabeth. I just want to talk.”

Anger rose again through Liz. “I don’t. I thought I made that pretty clear when I chose trying to seek the truth over listening to your half-truths.”

The next time Reddington spoke, he sound resigned, but no less determined. “I suspect you’ll only have a few hours before he bleeds out. If you’re not here within that time, Ressler will die. I’ve messaged the address to your phone.”

Elizabeth didn’t have time to get a word out. There was no time to scream, to yell at Reddington no, to stop. All the things she should’ve and could’ve said, were engulfed by the sound of the gunshot, and Ressler’s loud groan of pain that even the gag couldn’t hide.

The line went dead, and Liz took off in a run.


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Liz make it in time to save Ressler from the bullet wound that Reddington issued?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone.
> 
> Sorry for posting later than promised. I had an outpatient surgery earlier this week, and I spent my time after the last update panicking about it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this latest update.

Chapter Five

Between the time Reddington raised the gun and aimed it at him, all Ressler had time to do was make a panicked yell. No time to make one final attempt at fleeing, or to pray to whatever God that was out there that might be listening.

Reddington squeezed the trigger.

Ressler refused to close his eyes. If this was how he was going to die, he was not going to cower.

The shot went off.

It grazed the side of Ressler’s head, skinning the top of his ear, taking a small piece of flesh with it. Blood trickled down the side of his neck and his face. Ressler groaned loudly, the side of his head stinging with a burning pain, his ear ringing. It was so loud, he didn’t hear the sound of Liz screaming before Reddington cut the call off.

He slowly raised his head to look at Reddington. The man had spared his life. He had shot him, yes, but not fatally. But still. He had hurt him because he thought this way Liz would come. Not for Ressler, no, but for revenge.

Reddington walked towards Ressler, pulling out a cloth from his pocket, and pressed it to the injured mans ear. “Don’t look so surprised, Donald,” he said, “I wouldn’t kill you. Not yet at least, while you still have use to me. Besides, you do mean a lot to Elizabeth.”

Ressler let out a pained laugh, and leaned away from him, despite needing the pressure of the cloth to staunch the bleeding. “That’s funny; the idea of you caring about who Liz cares about. Do you need reminding of Mr. Kaplan? Tom? Do I need to go on?”

Ressler saw Reddington clench his jaw. Reddington stood still for a second, hand clenched around the cloth stained with the blood of his latest violence, before he shook his head, pushing the anger aside. “We must be going, before that Agent Park of yours arrives. We had sent her a false lead that there was no way Cooper wouldn’t have sent her to follow, but I imagine by now the agent has figured out it was a ruse.”

 _Park. Shit, yes._ Ressler thought. _I was meant to contact her again within the hour._ “Oh, don’t look at me like that Donald, she’s fine. Anyways, best be off. Dembe?”

Dembe, who was once again standing behind Ressler, moved. “Sorry about this, Donald. It should wear off soon enough.”

For the second time that day, Ressler was knocked out cold as a needle found itself into the side of his neck, and he was administered a steady dose of sedative.

“When she arrives, tell Liz to contact me here.” Reddington put down a piece of paper on the chair he had occupied and picked up his hat. Between the pain and the sedative, Ressler wasn’t awake long enough to see them leave, but he did feel Dembe sever the ties that bound his hands.

*

Ressler woke to a frantic pounding. At first, he thought it was his head, his left ear still ringing from the gun shot. The blood had begun to slow from the cut on the side of his head, but there was still an ever-present trickle. He moved slowly, groggily, stretching out his legs in front of him for the first time in God knows how many hours.

His legs had cramped up, so stretching them out was both a relief and a pain all at once. As he did that, he shook out his wrists, wiggled his fingers, and stretched his arms. He brought a hand up to the side of his head and winced when he felt the missing skin. That might need some stitches, and definitely a good dose of antiseptic.

As he examined his injuries, he realised that while his head was aching, it wasn’t the cause of the loud pounding noise. It was the door.

“Shit, Park.” He remembered Reddington saying that she would be on her way soon, once she figured out that she was led on a wild goose chase and had tracked down the real address. “I’m coming, alright!” he raised his voice. “You can stop banging now, Park!” Ressler stood, uneasy on his feet, before stumbling his way to the door. He yanked it open, ready to tell Park off-

_“Liz.”_

Her hand reached out for his face, assessing his wounds. “Ressler,” she whispered, “you’re okay. You’re still here.”

Elizabeth Keen pulled the shocked Donald Ressler into a hug. _She was here._ Liz was here, holding him. After everything, she came. All it took was a meeting with Reddington, and a close encounter with a gun. She had walked away, from him, from the team, but she came back. For him.

“Are you here for Reddington? He left already.” Ressler regretted it almost as soon as he said it. His voice was bitter, angry. Logically, he knew that Liz could’ve seen Reddington at any time. He was searching for her, constantly putting out invitations. But still. He was mad, mad because he got shot, and mad because he didn’t want to be the reason why Liz conceded and met with Red.

And he was scared. Scared of the implications. That she put everything aside to come for him . . . to save him.

Liz froze, and let go off Ressler, who hadn’t put his arms around her in reciprocation. “I came for you.”

“Why?” he said. “You could’ve just sent an ambulance and the rest of the team.”

Liz paused, looking like an animal that had just been caught in the headlights. She opened her mouth, and then snapped it closed again. Ressler’s heart dropped to the bottom of the stomach. So, it wasn’t for him. It was for the message Reddington left.

“I need to call Park,” he says, “she’ll be coming here soon to see if I’m okay. If she see’s you here, she’ll take you in. And I don’t know whether or not I’d stop her.” He pulled Keen inside the house, and locked the door. No more intruders.

It was just him . . . and Liz.

“You need a hospital,” she demanded, concerned. “You’re bleeding.”

“I need my phone.” He didn’t know how he did it, but he moved away from her. After all these months of wanting to see her, be near her again, he found it too painful to look at her.

“You can go now Liz, I’m fine.”

She grabbed hold of his arm, forcing him to stop moving further away from her. “I’m not going anywhere, Ressler. Not while you’re hurt.”

He shook her hand off of him. “Oh, but then you’ll go. And will I ever see you again after that? Or will it only be when someone decides to shoot me, because apparently that’s all I am – I’m bait.”

Tears filled Liz’s eyes. “I’m sorry that this happened to you, Ressler,” she cried, both with anger and with sadness, “but you know that this is why I left. To find a way to stop _him,_ ” she spat out, too angry to say his name, “because he keeps hurting the people that I care about. I have had enough of losing the people that I care about because of his secrets, his lies.”

“And you came back!” Ressler shouted. Distantly, in the back of his brain, he knew he should sit down, seek medical attention. While the ringing in the ear had subsided, he had lost a fair bit of blood. But that was of no concern to him right now. Being knocked out and drugged twice probably hadn’t done him any good, either. But all he had was this moment. He didn’t know how long she’d stick around. “You put all that at risk, and came back, Liz! Everything you gave up, all these months, and now you are here. And that mean he has won. He got you to play his game again, Liz! And I hate that I was a part of that.”

“Well, I’m sorry for loving you!”

Time stood still, as they stood staring at each other, the weight of the unexpected confession crashing down on both of them in a strong wave of emotion. For Liz, panic at having said it, but relief – for finally acknowledging it herself, and for telling him. For Ressler, shock – he had lived with a voice in his head for months telling him that he meant nothing to her, not like that – and then pure, unadulterated joy.

“You . . . you love me?”

Liz laughed, her cheeks flushed. “Yeah, Ressler, I do. And not just as friend. Well, as a friend, but . . . also something more. You’re it for me, Ressler. And I’m sorry if this is crap timing, or it is too late, and if you don’t feel the same way back then-”

Ressler’s hurt lurched. “Are you kidding me, Keen?” he laughed. “You . . .” he shook his head.

“What?” she worried. “Ressler, what?”

He didn’t have the words for her, but he had actions. He strode towards her and cupped her face in his hands. The worry hadn’t left her face, but her eyes had filled with a wary hope. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.” Without any further hesitation, he leaned forward and kissed her.

It was different than the first time. While that was a wary, careful goodbye kiss. That kiss, despite what other feelings were behind it, marked betrayal. But this, despite all the feelings of hurt and joy left to be unpacked, was a hello. A new promise for a new future. A future where Elizabeth Keen had said she loved him.

But Ressler hadn’t yet said it back.

He broke the kiss, suddenly desperate to lay out all his feelings. As if sensing this, she stopped him. “Wait,” she touched the side of his head, noting that the blood had congealed, but needed a desperate clean, “not yet, Ressler. I know what you want to say. At least I hope I do, but . . .” her eyes darted over his shoulder.

To the note that Raymond Reddington left.

Ressler pulled away from her.

“I’ve got to finish this, Ressler. And I know how – no, I can’t tell you . . . yet. But please, believe in my feelings for you. And believe me when I tell you that I found a way to end this.” Her face was sincere, her voice urgent. “Tonight, this will all be over.”

“Then let me come with you, Keen. We can do this together.” Even as he said it, he knew the answer. He was too injured, too weak from the attack by Reddington. And, despite how tangled up he was in this, this was her fight. Her score to settle.

“You need the hospital,” she said. “Let me go and finish this.”

His heart hurt. Just as she came back, she was leaving again, to fight her battle with Red. It would be like this, until he was gone. He couldn’t ask her to choose between him or Reddington, but he couldn’t keep putting himself through this. “I understand, Liz,” he paused, wanting to choose his next words carefully, “and I will be here for you. Just . . .”

“I know,” she assured, “that you can’t keep doing this forever. Neither can I, Ressler. I want a life. A life with _you,_ if you’ll have me. I can do this. I know I keep asking you to trust me, and that this will be the last time, and it happens all over again – but this is it Ressler. And if it’s not, then . . . ”

He nodded. “We’ll figure it out. You can’t keep running forever, Keen. And I’m here for you, always.” The thought of her leaving again broke his heart. He would always be there for Keen, whether they were romantic or not, but her confession changed something. It was a new promise, a new way forward. Liz was tired of losing the people she cared about, yes, but she had pushed them, and her life away, too. She paused her life to find answers. This was a way of her reclaiming it. “So, I really hope that this is it, Liz. It has to be,” he held her hands, “promise me, that whatever you’ll doing, you’ll make it out the other side. It’s not worth it otherwise.”

“I promise.”

“Then go, Keen. End this. Get your closure.”

She gently touched his face and kissed him. It held promise, unlike the first time she kissed him. This one said she will return, _for him._ “I mean it when I say I love you.”

With that, Elizabeth Keen left to face her final showdown with Raymond Reddington.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, surprise - the next chapter is going to be the last. I'll probably have more to say about that decision when I post it, but for now I just want to say thank you to everyone who has read and left wonderful comments. This will be the first piece of fiction I have finished in years! While it is under 10k, I am feeling so accomplished for finishing it, even though I know this isn't my best work. There's a lot I don't like about this - things I wish I wrote differently, the continuity mistakes, just general writing, etc. But there's a lot I do: I love how this gave me a path back to writing fiction. 
> 
> Writing this has been amazing practice, and I feel confident that my next piece will reflect that by being better written. I have to say, I'm a perfectionist - I struggle to see anything I do as good enough, and always compare myself to others - so I really challenged myself with this to just write, post, and see where it takes me. And to continue on writing even when I was discouraging myself because that little voice in my head was telling me this was god awful. To not delete, to not stop writing, to not go back and obsessively change details until I get so frustrated because nothing seems to work. 
> 
> My writing style has always been "wow, I've got an idea for an opening chapter, and a sort of ending - a thing I want to happen, the conclusion I want to get to." And the rest of the stuff, the bit between A and B, were things I just had to figure out while writing (often gave up when I couldn't). (I sometimes sit down and plan. I wish I did it more often. I like lists in other aspects of life, but apparently not with writing. That is just spur of the moment, go for it, sort of thing). It was like that with this. And I got stuck, around about last chapter. Just not knowing how much to do to get to my ending, but knowing the way I wanted it to end. So I waited a while, didn't rush to write things just to get to that point, and eventually an idea came to me. Patience, who knew I had it!
> 
> I hope you like the way I chose to end this story. I wanted it be an angsty-slowburn - but not too slow, cause uh, hello, while I like that trope as much as the next person, it has been long!! enough!! already!!
> 
> Once again, thank you for sticking with me - especially if you read this message to the end - and I hope you like the last chapter. It will be short and sweet. Thanks for reading!!


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